Like the Sky
by Lomonaaeren
Summary: AU. Harry Apparates at nine years old and attracts the attention of a Death Eater who takes him into a whole, new, dangerous world—one where the Lord Voldemort rules and his parents fought on the wrong side of the war, but also one where he is valued and taught to use his magic. Harry grows up neither Dark nor Light in an increasingly grey world.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Like the Sky  
 **Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.  
 **Rating:** R (for violence)  
 **Content Notes:** Violence, gore, torture, AU (Voldemort wins), minor character death, prejudice, manipulation, angst, eventual Voldemort mentors Harry  
 **Pairings:** None in the foreground, some background canon couples  
 **Summary:** AU. Harry Apparates at nine years old and attracts the attention of a Death Eater who takes him into a whole, new, dangerous world—one where the Lord Voldemort rules and his parents fought on the wrong side of the war, but also one where he is valued and taught to use his magic and placed forever above people such as the Dursleys. Harry grows up neither Dark nor Light in a world where many things interest him more than rebellion.  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic will be updated irregularly, whenever I complete a chapter. Its title comes from a quote from George Orwell's _1984:_ "Any kind of organized revolt against the Party, which was bound to be a failure, struck her as stupid. The clever thing was to break the rules and stay alive all the same. He wondered vaguely how many others like her there might be in the younger generation: people who had grown up in the world of the Revolution, knowing nothing else, accepting the Party as something unalterable, like the sky, not rebelling against its authority but simply evading it, as a rabbit dodges a dog."

 **Like the Sky**

 _Prologue_

"You're sure? They did it?"

"Yes, Professor. Absolutely sure. I—I saw the look on her face before the spell took hold. She achieved exactly what she wanted to." Sirius Black broke into harsh sobs as he stood in the shell of the ruined house, his hands wrapped around his head. "I was too late. I _failed_ them."

"You came as soon as you heard the call." Albus Dumbledore touched Sirius's shoulder and stepped away, shaking his head as he looked at the body sprawled on the ground in front of him. James Potter had died as he'd lived, bravely, defying the Dark. He'd taken five Death Eaters with him, even after half the house fell in. Albus closed his eyes and stood there until the pressure of tears dimmed behind them. "Young Harry is safe?'

"I couldn't see where he went at the other end of the spell." Sirius managed to get himself under control with a massive effort that choked down more pain than Albus knew he could ever understand. "Do you think—"

"She would have had to use blood to control it. That has to mean in the Muggle world, with her Muggle relatives."

"Then—we have to go get him back! I've _met_ Petunia. Who knows what she's going to do to Harry?"

Albus reached out and squeezed Sirius's shoulder, hard, making the young man pay attention to him. "Do not think that way, Sirius. The Muggle world is infinitely safer for Harry than the wizarding world at the moment, and almost none of the Death Eaters know how to navigate it. They would draw the attention of Muggle law enforcement wherever they went. And do you want to draw attention to Petunia by seeking her out?"

"Who would follow me?" Then Sirius's face altered terribly. "The traitor."

"Yes." Albus glanced at the other body lying in the wreckage. They had all been certain Peter Pettigrew was the traitor; they had orchestrated the conversations they allowed him to overhear and what missions he went on for months. And then tonight he had died, fighting beside James, and with no Dark Mark on his arm.

"There is another reason to leave Harry there," Albus continued, drawing Sirius's blank, grieving gaze from Peter and James. "Voldemort will do everything he can to cut connections between the Muggle and the wizarding worlds. If he does eventually discover Harry's hiding place, or Harry's magic becomes unmistakable and needs to be trained, it would be far better to have him raised thinking of Muggles as human beings, not insects to be trampled by a crushing boot."

Sirius nodded slowly, although he wrinkled his nose like a dog faced with a strong smell. "I wonder if Petunia will actually treat _him_ like a human being."

"She once wanted to attend Hogwarts." Albus felt the small regret catch for a moment against his throat, but he swallowed it. He had many bigger griefs to swallow now. "She will understand what it means to be deprived of the magical world."

Sirius sighed. "And I suppose we have to leave before any more Death Eaters get here."

Albus inclined his head. "But first we must hide the evidence." His wand rose, and he began to cast the spell that would reduce the Potter house to ashes.

"Wait! Peter and James. Can't we—"

Albus glanced sideways. "You know why we cannot, Sirius. Anyone who cared to dig up the graves would uncover evidence we cannot afford for them to have."

"Oh. So you're going to spread the story that _everyone_ died here?"

Albus nodded. "Yes. That would be the best protection of all for Harry, of course, if they thought him dead."

Sirius sighed, but said, "Okay. Just let me get a few things out of the house. Things James would have wanted me to save. Maybe I'll get to give them to Harry someday." He vanished into the house, and Albus heard the sound of furniture shifting.

Albus took the time to say farewell to two of his old students, and silently beg Peter's pardon for having wronged him. Sirius was out of the house in several minutes, his old trunk floating behind him.

The cracks of Apparition sounded, and made it clear that it was more than time to go. Albus gripped Sirius's sleeve and ignited the house in the same moment. They Apparated in the moment after.

They might have lost for now, but Albus was determined to live to be a sting in Voldemort's hide as long as he might.

* * *

Voldemort stood at a distance from the ruins of the house, his wand carefully tracing spirals and corkscrews in the air. His Death Eaters surrounded him with silver masks pulled over their faces. The masks did not matter. Voldemort knew every one of them, knew their breathing and their stances and what secrets to use as their reins.

The blacked bones pulled free of the ruins and floated towards him. Voldemort assembled the skulls, boiled artificially free of hair and flesh by his necromancy, and then closed his eyes and sent his spirit ranging along paths that few wizards had ever walked.

It did not take long. Even without the Resurrection Stone shining on his finger, Voldemort could have found spirits lingering nearby after their violent deaths. He pulled them back into their skulls, and waited patiently as they screamed and the skulls vibrated, through the first moments of disorientation the dead always had.

"You will tell me your names." It was important to be commanding with the newly deceased, who had far more free will than most Inferi.

The skulls continued to shake in rings for a moment. Voldemort imposed his will on them again, this time bringing it down like an invisible whip. A crack sprouted through the smaller skull. That was enough to cow the spirit inside.

"Peter Pettigrew." The name was said with a sniffling whine. Voldemort wrinkled his nose. He could imagine the kind of man this one would have been in life. Too cowardly to stay loyal to a principle, he would require a person.

"James Potter," said the other, in an echoing voice that made it sound as if he was fighting off the impulse of the spell even as he succumbed.

Voldemort touched his fingers to his lips. It was not like Dumbledore to leave two such prizes behind, which meant this might be a trap. "You will tell me the sequence of events that happened when my Death Eaters came to the house."

There was a little more resistance from Potter's spirit, but Pettigrew's had already begun to speak, his voice slipping into a monotone that showed the memories and loyalties of life were already slipping away from him. "I came to the house because James thought I was a traitor. He was going to interrogate me, subtly, and see if I had passed on information he had fed me before to the Death Eaters. But the attack came before he could finish the interrogation."

"One of the Death Eaters said something about my son." Potter's voice was becoming a monotone now, too.

Voldemort did not react outwardly, but he made mental notes. He had an execution to order tonight, then, for not knowing how to keep one's mouth shut. "Explain to me how many of them you killed, and their names."

"The only one I recognized was Garrett Rosier." Potter sounded now as if he had been dead for years. "I killed him by piercing him through the eyes with a piece of a broken vase…"

Voldemort listened to the rest of the recitation of the battle, which was, in the end, rather dry hearing. Pettigrew and Potter hadn't known most of their attackers. They hadn't caused the fire. They didn't know who had. They didn't know whether any of the Death Eaters who had come with the original attackers had escaped, either.

Voldemort sighed and gestured with his wand when the answers to his questions had turned to mere negative monosyllables. In seconds, the skulls had crumbled into black dust. He held out one of the crystal potions vials that he often carried with him, and the dust poured into it. Then he capped it and put it back into his pocket, deep in thought.

There was little he had to do tonight, beyond ordering the execution. He wondered for a moment whether it was worthwhile to pursue the person who had set the fire—who was probably Albus, of course—or clear the rubble to find out whether any other usable bodies had survived.

In the end, he decided not to. The attacks tonight had broken the back of Albus's Order. Voldemort had received the reports from everyone except the Death Eaters who had been here, and out of sixty Order members, fifty-six were dead. Voldemort was not lucky or foolish enough to believe Albus would be among them any time soon.

But the war had ended tonight. He had matters of administration to organize.

Spreading a warning to look out for the Potter child, whom he did not believe had died in the collapse of the house, would be enough.

* * *

With a bump and a shiver, a baby wrapped in a thick, warm blanket landed on the steps of a Muggle home. The baby opened his eyes and began to fuss. For a moment, someone bent over him and a hand touched his forehead.

"This is all we can do," said a voice so thick with sadness that the baby stopped crying as if he didn't want to add to it. "It seems such a stupid thing. So small." For a long moment, the voice paused as if someone else was going to speak, but that was impossible, given what had happened that night. And then the hand was gone, and the voice, faded away, never to return to that place.

Petunia Dursley screamed when she found him in the morning.


	2. Meetings

Thank you for all the reviews!

 _Chapter One—Meetings_

"The Mudblood is waiting for you, my lord."

Voldemort watched Yaxley until the man was shrinking back towards the door, one hand out as though he would fumble with the lock. Then Voldemort sighed and threw a cloth over the globe that allowed him to watch what his Imperiused Muggle officials were doing at any one time. The desk in front of him was large, half-circular, gleaming mahogany, and utterly empty other than the globe.

"Tell me that you did not speak that word in front of the girl, Yaxley."

"Um. M-might have, my lord."

Voldemort shook his head. He wanted to build a better world, and unfortunately, that sometimes meant using rotten wood. He drew his wand and silently activated the curse built into the Marks of all Death Eaters when they had done something to mildly displease him. Yaxley dropped into the midst of a waking nightmare, his eyes widening and silent screams bubbling from his throat.

Voldemort tossed a Portkey at him, and watched with no emotion as he left the room. Then he used his wand to open the door, and settled back behind his desk.

"Please come in, Miss Granger."

The girl marched into the room. Voldemort could see the pale face and the twitching hands she hid behind her back a moment later, but she met his eyes with a boldness that he found commendable.

"Are you Lord Voldemort?" she asked.

"I am." Voldemort gestured with his head to the chair in front of his desk, meanwhile twitching his wand under the half-circle of wood to cast a spell that would assess her magical strength. The cloud that appeared over her head was invisible to everyone except him; he studied it while she fussily seated herself. It looked as if she had the sorts of talents that would take her far into ordinary academic study, visible as sparkling diamond shards in the middle of the cloud, and she would also do well at Charms and Transfiguration, said the ruby and golden shards among the rest. And necromancy, according to the obsidian ones.

An interesting child. Lord Voldemort dismissed the spell and asked her, "Do you know why you're here, Miss Granger?"

"Because your Death Eater said something about me not belonging with my parents, sir." Granger's brow wrinkled. She was, of course, on the variation of the Calming Draught that they gave most new-taken Muggleborns, one that left the mind to work unimpeded so that Voldemort might assess them but dulled their emotions. "I don't understand that, though. Are my parents not really my parents? Did they steal me from somewhere?"

It was an entertaining speculation, one that Voldemort might have allowed her to go on thinking if there had been any purpose to it. But instead, he shook his head and murmured, "It is only that you have magic, Miss Granger, while they are Muggles."

"But where does my magic come from if Muggles and mages are so separate, sir?"

"It comes from magic in the environment. I suppose that you might have heard of the scientific studies on how radiation can alter genes, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, yes, sir! You mean nuclear weapons?"

"Yes. The magic in the environment can alter a Muggle woman's genes in the same way. It does nothing to help the Muggle herself acquire magic, of course, but it means that she can pass the change on to her children."

"I—that's fascinating, sir. But how many people know that? When was it discovered? Are there books I can read about it? What's the proportion of Muggle women who have genes like that? How can you know if they have it?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at the flood of questions, and after a second, Granger seemed to realize she might have asked too many. She looked down, flushing. "Sorry," she whispered.

"You need not fear upsetting me. The fact is that so far, the information has been published in confidential memos that only my private researchers and I have read. You can imagine what sort of chaos this would cause if it got out."

"Well…not really, sir. I mean, I'm new to the mage world. I don't know how they would be affected by things like this."

Voldemort granted her a tolerant smile. "There are many who are used to thinking of magic as something that follows blood alone. You will have heard of pure-bloods?" Granger nodded her head until it looked as if she was dancing. "They would dislike the notion that magic hovers in the environment and grants itself fairly randomly to those Muggles that live in a certain place or engage in certain behavior. They might even question why _they_ sometimes have children that are non-magical. It is capable of causing questions, Miss Granger, and the last thing I wish to cause is unrest. Our world has had enough of that. The information will be released slowly."

"Mr. Yaxley said something about a war…"

Voldemort nodded. "A very recently ended one, one that almost exposed us to the Muggles. I will take no chances."

"Okay, sir. But, um…why tell _me_ about that?"

Voldemort gave her a faint smile. "I have judged you mature enough to handle the information, Miss Granger."

Watching her head almost visibly swell made Voldemort want to chuckle. Yes, he had judged her correctly. Some new Muggleborns introduced into their world for the first time wanted attention, others money, some power or reassurance. But Granger's lever was knowledge, and Voldemort knew how to apply it.

Granger sat up in her chair and took a deep breath. "Does that mean that you don't want me to tell anyone about this, sir?"

"I would want you to wait on the specifics until we decide how to release the information. You can do your best to comfort and reassure some of the other Muggleborns, the ones who may not understand how wide the gap between them and their Muggle parents is. In fact, I would take it as a personal favor, Miss Granger. Welcome to the beginnings of your career in politics."

Her eyes widened, and she looked as if she would almost vibrate off the chair. She bowed her head, instead, and murmured, "I understand, sir. I won't fail you. You can count on me."

Voldemort nodded and spent a few more moments asking her about her accommodations (with the Greengrass family), the sort of things she expected to learn in the next few years before she was officially moved from the primary school attached to Hogwarts to Hogwarts itself (everything), and the incidents of accidental magic in her childhood (making objects float, repairing the torn pages of a book instantly). Granger left the office content, and Voldemort felt much the same way. He would be influencing the girl in a way that meant he would harness her possibly dangerous brain for the society he wanted to create instead.

In truth, there were no firm conclusions yet on why Muggleborns were gifted with magic, although his researchers had come up with some intriguing theories. Voldemort would continue to fund them until they found a firm conclusion. But he suspected it wasn't as simple as magic from the environment, or the proportion of Muggleborns in Britain would have been higher than it was.

Ah, well. In a short time, it would become even higher. Voldemort had only begun five years ago to add Severus's special potion to Britain's water supply, the potion that would guarantee any Muggle woman in Britain could only carry a magical child to term; non-magical fetuses would be spontaneously aborted. To avoid an outcry, the effects of the potion ramped up gradually, and Muggle children were being born now, and many of the spontaneous abortions happened so early that the potential mothers never knew they had been pregnant at all. Voldemort was moving slowly by necessity, and would move more slowly when it came to introducing the potion to other magical societies on the Continent and in the States, Africa, and Australia.

Was he not immortal? Did he not have time to live and see the Muggles go extinct?

* * *

Hermione gazed around in awe as Mrs. Leto Greengrass led her into the new classroom. She had spent the past fortnight getting an introduction to the magical world in a few rooms that were at the front of the Merope Gaunt Memorial School for Muggleborns, rooms also used for mage children younger than she was. This was a room that looked much more suited to the studying she wanted to do.

It had enchanted windows enclosed in high arches, showing many different historical scenes. Hermione saw a few tales she was already familiar with, like Merlin receiving the first wand, and others that looked entirely unfamiliar but exciting, like volcanoes exploding and Lord Voldemort fighting someone in bright robes. There were bookshelves between the windows, all of them thick with leather-bound tomes and scrolls in blue cases, and a circle of chairs with only a few desks in the middle of the room.

"Here you are, Hermione." Mrs. Greengrass had a soft voice, although Hermione had already seen a little of her sterner side when she asked about her parents. She settled Hermione in a chair made of white wood off to the side of the desk. Hermione looked around and then hesitantly up at Mrs. Greengrass.

"Ask your questions, dear."

Hermione nodded. "We don't each get a desk, Mrs. Greengrass? How do we write or take notes?"

Mrs. Greengrass kneeled down in front of her. "This classroom is for oral history and magical practice, Hermione. Your teacher will put a wand on the desk and tell you the instructions, then hand the wand around in a circle and ask you to copy her."

Hermione stared at her. "But nothing gets written down, Mrs. Greengrass? How do we remember the instructions?"

Mrs. Greengrass smiled, a hard smile that made Hermione a little afraid. She already knew that not everyone in this new world liked Muggleborns. People who said the word "Mudblood," for example.

But Mrs. Greengrass reached out and gently touched Hermione's hand. "You will learn to memorize it. Did you know that ancient mages, before they had writing, or before writing was common, memorized almost everything? Yes, spellbooks and grimoires are useful. But they also passed on knowledge from parent to child about the way the earth works, the contents of family history, and spells."

"I mean—that sounds interesting, Mrs. Greengrass, but if that was ancient mages, and we're modern mages—"

"Lord Voldemort also believes that that was one reason ancient mages had such a high proportion of wandless magic, and we do not."

Hermione blinked as she tried to work that out. "Does that mean that—memorizing spells and just _saying_ them somehow makes them more powerful than reading them from books and casting them with wands?"

"That is a crude rendition of the theory, but in truth, yes, Miss Granger. It comes close."

"Do we only get to read books in Hogwarts?"

"You will be introduced to some recent history next year. It is vital that you understand how you came to be in this world, when it used to be the policy to leave Muggleborns to languish until their eleventh birthday, or even later." Mrs. Greengrass gave her a somewhat stern look. "With your birthday in September, you would have had to wait almost an entire year to go to Hogwarts, and that might have caused you damage."

Hermione thought about arguing that her parents would never abuse her, but on the other hand, she'd already heard about the awful things that had happened to other mage children. She already knew that you couldn't use one person's experience to contradict a whole lot of other people's. One of her books had called it a statistical anomaly. She might be one.

And when she thought of the secrets Lord Voldemort had entrusted her with, she knew the whole society would change someday. She had to be patient, though, and not reveal those secrets, or he would probably never trust her with anything again. And that would be all _her_ fault.

She settled back into her seat and watched as the other students trickled into the room. She could wait to share those secrets, to ask for a bigger share of the world. She knew she _would_ get it. Lord Voldemort wouldn't tell his secrets to just anyone.

Mrs. Greengrass squeezed her hand and walked out of the room. Hermione looked at the other children's faces and saw that all of them were mostly calm. There was only one tiny girl with bright ginger hair who was sniffling and wiping at her eyes.

Hermione caught her gaze and smiled hesitantly, patting the seat next to her. The girl gave the same kind of smile back and walked over to sit down next to her.

"What's your name?" Hermione asked, holding out her hand. The girl shook it. She had short, chewed nails, which made Hermione feel calmer. At least not every girl in her new world was shockingly beautiful with neat nails, the way Mrs. Greengrass looked all the time. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"You don't have an adoptive family?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. The Greengrasses. But I didn't know I was supposed to say something about them when I introduced myself."

The girl smiled shakily back at her. "That's all right. I'm Ginny Weasley, adopted by the—the Lestranges." She bowed her head. "I'm not a Muggleborn. The parents who raised me were traitors to the Dark Lord. They would have kept me from coming here to school or going to Hogwarts. I'm grateful that the Lestranges rescued me."

She said the words very quickly, and Hermione didn't think she was really happy about it. But she was almost happy about that, herself. That meant she didn't have to pretend that she didn't have complicated feelings about her Muggle parents.

"The Dark Lord told me we belong in the mage world, but I still don't feel that way all the time," she whispered.

"You've _met_ him?" Ginny's eyes were wide.

Hermione nodded and started to explain, but the teacher spoke up then, a tall woman with stern dark eyes. "If you will pay attention, please. My name is Andromeda Black. I am here to teach you the basics of your history and the first magical spells you will learn…"

* * *

Harry pounded around the corner and didn't look back.

Dudley and Piers and the others were _right there._ He had to keep ahead of them. Dudley had been scolded by a teacher this morning for having a dirty face. He was in the mood to take it out on Harry. Harry had to _move_.

He heard someone shout behind him, and then there were footsteps, a lot closer than Harry'd thought. He ducked his head and flinched and tried to run again—

Then he just wasn't on the ground anymore.

Harry turned and stared down. Down, because he was on the roof of the school. Dudley and the other boys were standing under him with their mouths open. Then Dudley started to grin.

"Harry's going to be in _trou-ouble_!" he sang. "You're not supposed to be climbing on the roof, freak!"

Harry cringed. He knew that. And he would be in even more trouble with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon when he got home, because this was a freakish thing they couldn't explain, the way Aunt Petunia had explained Dudley's clothes shrinking in the wash to herself. This was going to be like growing out his hair overnight all over again.

"You are such a _freak_!" Dudley said, and Piers and the other boys behind him grinned and nodded.

"Watch what you're saying, Muggle."

Harry blinked as he saw someone just step out of thin air. He had a big, thick dark cloak on, and he had a stick in his hand. Harry wondered if he'd been robbing a house or something. He faced Dudley and the other boys down.

"You're the freak here," the man went on, in a rumbling voice that made him sound like he was chewing rocks. "Chasing someone six-to-one? Threatening a _wizard_?" Then the man paused, like someone else invisible was talking to him. Harry almost fell off the roof, he was leaning over so far to try and see them.

"Right, a mage," the man muttered. "I always forget that."

Dudley had recovered from his surprise by now. "You're just a freak like him!" he declared. "You can't do anything to me. I'm going to tell my _daddy_!"

The man chuckled. "Just what I would expect from a Muggle," he said, and then the stick rose and gestured. Harry saw two sharp-edged red things tear out of the stick and fly towards Dudley and the other boys. They screamed as they started to bleed. Harry watched open-mouthed. The two things ripped through them like flying multi-bladed knives and then turned back around.

Harry shuddered as he realized that maybe those red things could _kill_ Dudley and the others. He stood up. "No, please!" he shouted. "Don't do that!" He had to stop the man—

He was back on the ground. The man whirled around to face him. He had a thick face and rotten yellow teeth that showed when he smiled. But Harry couldn't help smiling back, because the man looked approving in a way that none of his teachers or his relatives ever had.

Then Harry remembered the red things, and said, "Please stop! Please!" He turned back to find the red things hovering over Dudley and the other boys, who were all on the ground. Harry blinked and looked more closely. It looked like they were—asleep?

"Don't worry, kid," the man said. "I've used a Memory Charm on them. They're going to wake up and think they were beating each other up, and that's how they got those wounds." He chuckled. It was a nasty sound. "Wouldn't be surprised if they're not such close friends, after this.

"But enough about the Muggles." He took a step towards Harry, watching him intently. " _You're_ the special one. Apparating twice in a row like that, and you're what? Six?"

"Nine," Harry said indignantly. _He_ couldn't help it if he was small for his age.

The man blinked. "Huh. And what's your name?"

Harry considered him cautiously for a second, but he couldn't see why it would be so bad for a freak to tell his name to another freak. "Harry Potter."

The man's smile spread all over his face this time. "No _shit_? The legendary lost Potter kid? And strong enough to Apparate at nine?" He laughed aloud and then reached down and pulled up his left sleeve. "My Lord is not going to _believe_ this shit."

Harry asked, very quickly, because this man could be another adult who liked to ask questions but didn't like Harry to ask them, "What's Apparate? And why am I legendary? And do you swear _all_ the time?" Then he gasped when he saw the black snake-and-skull tattoo on the man's arm. "And what's _that_?"

"One at a time." The man was still smiling, so maybe he didn't mind questions. "Apparating is crossing distances without walking through them—what you just did when you appeared on the roof and then on the ground again. It's powerful magic. Most kids can't do that until they have a wand, at the very least. Most people can't do it at all until they're seventeen."

Harry felt himself blush. The man was looking at him like he was _special,_ not a freak. "And the other stuff?"

"Anyway," the man went on, "you're legendary because your parents died but somehow people smuggled you into the Muggle world. That's people without magic," he added, probably because he saw Harry's mouth opening again. "No one knows how they did it. My Lord—he's the one in charge of our government—has been searching for you ever since. He doesn't think any magical child should be raised around Muggles."

Harry hesitated. He wanted to say that he agreed, but he thought it would sound rude. "I live with my aunt and uncle."

The man snorted a little. "Should have thought to look there in the first place," he muttered. "Anyway. I swear all the time because I _can_ , and this tattoo is the Dark Mark. It connects me to my Lord. I'll talk to him, and if he agrees to see you, then you're coming with me." He cocked his head at Harry. "I mean, even if he doesn't agree to see you right away, then you're still coming with me. We don't leave any wiz—mage kid with Muggles."

"What's a wizmage?"

"We used to be called wizards, now we're mages. Just a second, Potter." The man touched the tattoo on his arm, and Harry gasped as the snake reared up and _off_ his skin and looked at him.

"Found Harry Potter, my lord," the man said, his eyes looking distant. "He's been living with the Muggles, all right. He Apparated _twice_. You want to see him now?"

There was a little silence, and then the snake bobbed its head. The man grinned. "Great. He says yes. Come with me, kid." He held out his hand.

The snake was also hissing. Harry listened and blinked. "The snake said yes, too?"

"O' course, it nodded—wait. You can understand the snake?"

Harry took a slow step backwards. Maybe this was too freakish even for wizmages.

It didn't matter. The man grabbed his wrist and grinned. "Oh, yeah, my Lord is going to _love_ to meet you. And my name's Walden Macnair, by the way. Don't think I mentioned it. Come on, kid."

"But—my aunt and uncle—my cousin—" Harry glanced over at Dudley, who was still asleep.

"That was your cousin chasing you?" Macnair snorted. "You're _definitely_ coming with me. It's as much as my hide's worth to leave a mage kid with abusive family."

Harry still hesitated. "I'll be in a place with people who have magic? Like me?"

"Nothing but. Now _come on_."

And they Apparated, and it was the last time Harry ever saw Dudley.


	3. A Snake and a Ruby

Thank you again for all the reviews!

 _Chapter Three—A Snake and a Ruby_

Harry looked around with a slightly open mouth as Macnair pulled him through dark corridors, and around big corners, and past pictures that actually turned to _follow_ them and _look_ at them when they passed. Was this part of being a wizmage? You got to live in a house with moving pictures and so on?

"This way, kid."

Harry looked up to see a huge wooden door in front of him. It had a face carved into it, but Harry didn't get a very good look before Macnair rapped on it and called, "Here with Harry Potter, m'lord."

"Come."

The voice sent shivers down Harry's spine. It reminded him of some villains' voices he'd heard on the telly, and he bit his lip when Macnair opened the door and shoved Harry in. What if this wasn't any different from Dudley and Uncle Vernon? What if this was just someone who could use _magic_ to beat him up?

"Make sure you're polite," Macnair whispered behind him before he slammed the door, leaving Harry on the room side of it and himself on the other. That wasn't something Harry was really pleased about, either, but he supposed he had to keep going.

And it just worried Harry more. He _tried_ to be polite to the Dursleys and everything, but half the time when he thought he was being really good they just thought he was a bigger freak.

Harry walked slowly across the carpet towards the desk. It was the biggest desk he had ever seen, and the richest. The telly shows with villains didn't have anything like that nice. And the carpet was thick and soft beneath his feet and he couldn't even hear his footsteps at _all_. And there were more moving pictures on the walls, but they had gold frames.

The man behind the desk was taller and thinner than anyone Harry had ever seen. He had dark hair, and he was staring straight at Harry. Harry hunched his shoulders. No one looked at him like that, not even the neighbors who thought Harry was a freakish criminal.

"Stand tall and straight, child. No mage should cower that way, even one raised by Muggles."

Harry swallowed and tried to stand up as straight as he could. He knew he was still small, though. He thought that he probably looked even smaller to a man this tall. _He_ probably never got abused by Muggles, Harry thought.

"I want you to prove something to me, child."

Harry hesitated. "If you want me to Apparate again, I don't know if I can do that. I don't know how I did that in the first place."

The man smiled abruptly, and Harry took a step back. There was a spark of something in the air when he did that, like he was preparing to kill Harry, and Harry could feel it.

"You have already proven yourself to me. I was speaking in Parseltongue then. The language of snakes," he added, when Harry stared at him. "We are still speaking it. And you understood me, and responded."

Harry blinked, and concentrated. He supposed there was a slight hissing sound to the words when he _really_ listened, but it mostly just sounded like English to him. He told the lord wizmage that.

The man simply nodded. _"That is the mark of someone who speaks Parseltongue in truth,_ " he said. " _There are those who can learn it, but they never hear it as anything other than a different language. It is the speech of your soul._ "

Harry swallowed. " _Is that a bad thing? I don't know anything about magic. Or wizmages._ "

" _Wizmages_?"

" _Well, it sounded like that was what Mr. Macnair said._ "

The Lord sighed. " _Of course he did. We used to be called wizards, Harry. I have changed the name to mages. I find it more reflects our special—talents, and says less about the old ideas that Muggles have about us._ "

" _Oh_." There really wasn't much more that Harry could say to that. He just didn't know anything. He wondered if he would be behind all the other wizmages—mages. He hadn't grown up with magic. He swallowed. Mr. Macnair had said he would be surrounded by people who would have magic, but wasn't he just going to be a freak here, too?

" _What concerns you, little one_?"

" _I was in a non-magical world for nine years. How am I going to learn anything? Won't people despise me?_ " Harry remembered something else Macnair had said. " _And if people have been looking for me—does that mean I did something bad? What about my parents?_ "

* * *

The child was the most fascinating mixture of confusion and anger, talent and naivete.

Lord Voldemort leaned his hand against his face as he contemplated Harry Potter. The boy was much smaller for nine than he would have expected. Then again, that could be explained by the Muggle living situation and the fact that apparently he had not been eating properly.

Voldemort quelled the expected flare of anger expertly. He would deal with that, in time. He did not need to plot the deaths of Muggles in the forefront of his mind right now. The back of his mind always handled that well enough.

" _You can learn anything you want to learn,_ " he hissed, because it was true. A child who was talented with Parseltongue might do almost anything. And it would behoove Voldemort to keep an eye on him, in case that "anything" included treading the paths that he had already trod, the ones that led to ultimate power. " _There are some who never catch up with the rest of the magical world, but they are the ones who prefer to think they are Muggles._ "

" _Non-magical humans_?"

Voldemort inclined his head. He watched the struggle happening in the boy's face and maintained a relaxed posture. Whatever Potter would come up with himself would be more valuable than the thoughts Voldemort could instill in him.

At least, at this point in time.

" _That's stupid_!" Potter finally burst out. " _Why would they want to belong in the Muggle world when they could belong_ here?"

Voldemort did not smile, but he did hiss out a soft laugh that made Potter jump and regard him with wide eyes. " _Indeed, Mr. Potter,_ " Voldemort said, rolling his shoulders. " _I have often wondered the same thing myself. But there are people who are so committed to the vision of Muggle-mage equality that they think our worlds should be blended._ "

Potter swallowed. There was a wish, a longing, in his eyes that he obviously didn't feel he could express. But Voldemort was reluctant to use Legilimency on a developing mind. " _Speak your thoughts,_ " he ordered.

" _If the worlds blended,_ " Potter whispered, " _that might mean I'd have to see my cousin and my aunt and uncle again. And I don't want to do that. I mean—they're not—they're not as bad as some Muggles. But I really want to live without seeing them again._ "

And there was the perfect segue into the topic that Lord Voldemort had wanted to introduce, without him having to introduce the segue. Once he had discovered this particular difference between inferior and superior politicians, his experiences provided it again and again and again.

He nodded. " _I totally understand what you are thinking, Mr. Potter. But you should know that your parents were fighters for that kind of blending. If you want to get past being suspected of it and have an entirely Muggle-free life, you will have to resist the temptation to follow their legacy._ "

He leaned back and waited in silence for his words to take effect.

* * *

Harry's breath was coming short. He could be free of the Dursleys _forever_? He could live in this magical place with Apparition and wizmages and moving pictures for the rest of his life? Someone who seemed to be powerful and extremely scary thought he would be able to catch up with the others?

But he knew he had to find out about his parents.

" _They—they didn't die in the Muggle accident that my aunt and uncle told me about, did they_?" he asked, and for a moment, he thought Lord Voldemort actually hissed in what was just anger and not words.

But a second later, Lord Voldemort shook his head. " _No. Perhaps better for you that they had, young Potter._ " He measured Harry with his eyes in a way that Harry was familiar with. Teachers looked at him like that when they were wondering whether he was going to be trouble based on the stories from Dudley and Aunt Petunia. " _They died fighting against me._ "

Harry stared at his hands for a second. The bitter thought hammered in the back of his head that everything was messed up before he even knew he was a wizmage, the way it always was before he stepped into a primary school classroom. His family was _always_ going behind his back and messing things up like that!

" _Aren't you even going to ask why?"_ Lord Voldemort prompted after a second.

Harry cleared his throat and swallowed. Then he shook his head. " _Why do I need to know why? You probably hate me already, just like all the Muggle teachers hated me in primary school because of the lies Dudley told about me._ "

Lord Voldemort's hand slapped the top of his shiny desk. Harry leaped in place and stared up with wide eyes. Lord Voldemort was leaning forwards, and it looked as if he was about to bare his fangs and snarl like a fox.

" _Never compare me to a filthy Muggle again,_ " he said.

Harry nodded hastily, but he was sadly looking around the office, at the portraits in the golden frames, silently bidding them farewell. He looked towards the door and wondered if Mr. Macnair would take him back to the school. He had said his _spell_ would make Dudley and Piers and the other kids in the gang think they'd been fighting each other. That might make things better for Harry for a little while. They wouldn't blame him.

Then Harry sighed as he remembered. They _always_ found a way to blame him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would probably blame him if they somehow found a huge barrel of gold in front of them one day.

" _I do not like cowards, either._ "

Harry looked up, because that was kind of insulting, but he answered quietly because he didn't see any other choice. " _I'm just realistic, sir. You must hate me because of what my parents did, so I don't have a chance to convince you otherwise, right?"_

Lord Voldemort paused. Then he said, " _Some of my most loyal servants fought on the opposite side of the war at first. They thought they had good reason. It wasn't until they listened to me and counted up what their side gave then and what I would give them that they were convinced otherwise._ "

Harry didn't think he understood all of that, but it made him a little hopeful. Maybe he _would_ be able to convince Lord Voldemort otherwise, too! He took a deep breath. "I don't know if it helps, sir, but I know that I don't ever want to be around Muggles again."

Lord Voldemort smiled, a small smile that Harry treasured more than most of the ones he'd got in his life. "That is a start," he said, switching back to English, as Harry had done. "But I insist that you know the history of the other side of the war and why your parents did what they did first." He paused. "What do you know about your parents?"

Harry hesitated one more time, and then decided to trust Lord Voldemort. He would know that Harry was just saying what the Dursleys had told him and not what he really believed. "I know that my mother's name was Lily. And Aunt Petunia thought she was a freak. And they said she was a whore and my father was a drunk, and they died in a car crash."

Another pause. Then Lord Voldemort said, "You do not even know your father's name?"

Harry shook his head. "I mean, I know it must have been Potter, sir, because that's my last name, too. But that's it."

"It was James. Your parents died fighting against me," Lord Voldemort said, and stood up from behind the desk. "I told you that already. What you do not know is that they were strong, talented wizards, the kind I would have recruited to my side if that were possible."

"Even though my mother came from Muggles, sir?"

Lord Voldemort paced around the desk, his robes swishing around him. Harry hoped he could learn how to do that someday. "I see Macnair has been telling tales."

It took Harry a second to understand that, just like some of the other things that Lord Voldemort had said, but he shook his head a second later. "I just mean that she has Muggle relatives, sir. And you hate Muggles. So I don't know if you would think she was talented."

Lord Voldemort paused with his hand resting on the edge of the desk. "So you do have a brain, and you can use it."

Harry remained quiet, because he didn't know what he should say in response. Lord Voldemort continued after a moment, "It is true that at the time, many of my followers hated Muggles and extended the hatred to those mages who had two Muggle parents. I welcomed Muggleborns, as they are called, into my ranks, but they had to pass several stringent tests, including rejecting the Muggle world completely. Many of them could not do that, which means that many of my mages are pure-bloods."

"Are those the ones with two wizmage parents, sir?"

"I wish you would not continue to use the mistaken word you pick up from Macnair, Mr. Potter. It displeases me."

"Sorry, sir. You mean the ones with two mage parents?"

"Better." Lord Voldemort paced out in a slow arc of a half-circle, pausing only to stare out of a window on the far side of the room. Harry craned his neck, but couldn't see what was outside it from here. "Your father was a Muggle-lover."

"That's really strange," Harry said in surprise. "Did he _know_ any?"

Lord Voldemort turned towards him. "I am uncertain. I do know that he thought what I was doing was wrong, partially because he had married your Muggleborn mother. He fought me until the end."

"The end, sir?"

"One of my followers killed him."

Harry shut his eyes. Lights were bursting behind them, and his breathing was so _fast._ He didn't know he could breathe like that.

"Breathe, child."

"That's all I'm doing," Harry complained, and then opened his eyes to see Lord Voldemort kneeling down in front of him and staring at him without any expression. He swallowed with a huge gulp of air, and it did seem to help with the breathing a little bit. "Sorry."

"Why did you react that way?"

"That probably means you want to kill me, too, right?" Harry whispered. "That's why you had people looking for me. And you brought me here and I _thought_ maybe you were going to let me be a normal sort of w—mage, but it's like, it's like a cat playing with a mouse before it kills them. Or my cousin Dudley pretending he wanted to be friends and then snatching it away again." He shivered and curled up. "Why did you bring me here, though? I didn't know anything. Did you want to see if I did? Or just see the expression on my face before you killed me?"

* * *

Lord Voldemort felt a tremor of surprise. Even people who had grown up under his reign did not usually leap to the idea of their own demise that quickly.

Then again, this child had been abused by the Muggles who had raised him. Voldemort had been conscious of the presence of death himself at the same age, although he would never have given up in the face of it the way Potter was.

"I am not going to kill you," he said. "I want to know why you can speak Parseltongue."

The child stared at him with those frustratingly bright eyes over his folded arms. "I don't know, sir. Sometimes I just spoke to snakes and they answered me. I didn't think much of it."

Voldemort had had long practice in leashing his frustration, although he hadn't had to do it in relation to Parseltongue in decades. Any child in the magical world knew what a great gift that was, and would have reported it to him immediately. Their parents would have shoved Pensieve memories of their child interacting with serpents at him. They would have greedily taken advantage of the Galleons Voldemort had offered decades ago for the presence of a Parselmouth who was British.

Of course, now Voldemort had the chance to mold a Parselmouth from the ground up, and he wouldn't even have to pay Galleons to a frothing parent. Although perhaps a small consideration for Macnair was not out of the question.

" _It is the most precious gift of magic,_ " he hissed, and watched Potter's eyes track the movement of his lips. " _Can you guess why_?"

" _No, sorry, sir. I just don't know enough about magic._ "

" _Because we are the only magical people who can communicate with true animals,_ " Voldemort said, and watched the boy's eyes widen. They had widened at the word "we," not the end of the sentence. Smiling, Voldemort sat back and watched the youngster. " _There are those who can speak to magical creatures such as unicorns, and magical creatures like goblins and centaurs who can speak English. But the barrier between animals and humans endures even here in the magical world. Except for us._ " He held out his hand. _"Would you like to meet my familiar_?"

" _Sorry, Lord, what's a familiar_?"

" _An animal who can help amplify your magic and make you more powerful._ "

" _Brilliant! Can I have one_?"

Lord Voldemort stood. " _When you have proved yourself worthy of one. A Parselmouth's familiar must be a snake._ " He held out his hand and touched the connection that had always throbbed between his soul and his familiar's since he had found her. " _Nagini_!"

* * *

The door opened, although Harry didn't see the magic that did it, and the biggest snake he had ever seen slithered into the office.

Harry gasped in his breath and held it. He kept expecting Aunt Petunia to scream, he realized, even though she wasn't there. He watched as Nagini came towards him and lifted her head to stare him in the eye. She didn't have to lift her head that high, even though he was standing. She was a brilliant green-and-yellow, with scales overlapping all down her sides and making her eyes shine.

" _She's so pretty_ ," Harry whispered.

He heard a surprised chuckle from above him, and then Lord Voldemort said, " _That is not something many people say when first meeting her._ "

" _What do they say_?"

Nagini coiled up to look at him with an irritated hiss. " _Why not ask me, since I am right here?_ "

" _Sorry, just not used to this,"_ Harry said with a blush, because now that he thought about it, that was pretty rude. He leaned forwards and studied her. Her eyes were huge and dark. " _Do you like the people who talk to you? Or are they rude?"_

" _You are the only one I have met besides Tom who could talk to me in a long time. But mostly, people shriek and faint._ "

" _That's rude of them. Who's Tom_?"

Lord Voldemort cleared his throat, and Harry wondered if he didn't want Nagini to tell Harry. Harry wanted to reassure Lord Voldemort that Harry wouldn't think of him as less special because there was another Parselmouth named Tom, but he didn't get the chance. " _Tell Harry of our familiar bond, Nagini._ "

Nagini considered Harry for a moment, as if thinking about whether he was special enough to hear. Then she bobbed her head and murmured, " _When my speaker was young, he did not connect with many other humans. He could speak to snakes, but he saw them as tools. Their magic was not compatible with his._ "

" _Snakes are magical?_ "

" _All of us._ " Nagini sounded a little smug. " _That is more than humans could say. So he had determined that he would never bond with a familiar. He believed there existed no snake that was as magnificent as he could be._ "

Harry darted a glance at Lord Voldemort, wondering if he would describe the man as magnificent. He was at least really tall and really powerful, Harry thought. Maybe that would be enough. " _And then he found you?_ "

" _I came seeking him. Sometimes snakes bond with magical humans. We can feel their magic from a great distance, but they cannot feel us unless they are performing a seeking spell. My—speaker did not do that. He had already decided against doing so, because, of course, he knew everything._ "

Harry blinked and held back a gasp. Nagini sounded like she was _teasing_ Lord Voldemort. Was that true?

" _Tell him of the bond as it was established, Nagini, not everything about how it came to be._ "

Nagini flicked her tongue out at Lord Voldemort, but Harry didn't speak enough Snake to know what that meant. " _I found him, and I presented myself to him. He at first was inclined to send me away or keep me around only long enough to use for his purposes, as he had done with other snakes. But even he could feel how compatible our magic was. I convinced him to perform the bonding ritual._ "

" _What is that like?"_ Harry asked, even though he wondered why Nagini kept ignoring Lord Voldemort's orders and talking about how the bond came to be.

" _The ritual uses blood and magic and a complete sensation of trust. He had to trust me first, so it took a long time. But when the ritual was finished, I could give him magic and he could perform more powerful spells. And he could see through my eyes from a distance. And I could know new things that I was not born knowing._ "

Harry wasn't sure that he understood that last part, but he nodded as if he did. He was pretty used to acting as if he knew what his teachers were talking about, so that they wouldn't go and talk to the Dursleys.

" _Can I have a snake like you_?"

" _There are no other snakes like me._ " Nagini turned her head to look smugly back over her scales.

" _Oh._ "

" _But you might be able to have a snake a little like her,_ " Lord Voldemort said, and stood, ignoring the way that Nagini flickered her tongue at him. Although Harry didn't know how he knew this, he was abruptly certain that Nagini didn't like what Lord Voldemort had said. " _In fact, why not practice?"_

" _How_?" Harry asked, and then gasped. Lord Voldemort had walked across the room to a cupboard that reminded Harry uncomfortably of his old one and opened it. Harry was just reminding himself that he didn't have to go back to the Muggle world ever again when Lord Voldemort turned around.

In his hands was a shining gold carving of a snake. Harry stared at it. It looked kind of familiar. Maybe something he'd seen on the telly? Something like a crown someone had once worn?

" _This is a training tool of the kind that were used to work with young Parselmouths in days when there were more of us,_ " Lord Voldemort hissed. " _It does not have its own intelligence and it cannot share magic with you like a familiar, but it can amplify your magic and make spells easier. And it will get you used to the weight of a snake and feeding it._ "

" _What does it eat_?" Harry couldn't see how a gold snake could eat anything, but then again, this was the magical world. Maybe toys ate things all the time here.

" _Bits and pieces of your own power. If you separate from it too long, it will lose its ability to move. Wear it often, and it will help you._ "

" _Brill,_ " Harry said, and wondered a little that Parseltongue had a word for that. But then Lord Voldemort came closer, and Harry could see more of the snake.

It really was brilliant, though! It was made of gold, or at least it looked like that, but it had little realistic triangular and diamond-shaped scales all over it, and green stripes that spiraled up and down it. When Harry touched it—Lord Voldemort actually _gave it to him_ —it was warm, as though it was alive. Harry looked down at the eyes, and jumped.

" _What is it, Harry_?"

" _I thought the eyes were black a second ago, but it changed to green!_ "'

There was a long pause, and Harry looked up cautiously. Maybe he wasn't supposed to comment on that? Maybe magical toys did that all the time and people just pretended not to notice? The Dursleys had pretended not to notice lots of things—

But Lord Voldemort was simply watching Harry with his fingers stroking his chin, and a second later, he nodded at the golden snake. " _It only does that when the Parselmouth holding it is a particularly powerful mage._ "

Harry gasped. He wanted to think that he was. He wanted to be special, because the Dursleys told him he _wasn't_ all the time. But he wasn't sure how he felt about it now that he knew for sure he was. He swallowed.

" _Why does that frighten you, child_?"

" _I—I think that powerful people have lots of responsibilities. Lots of things that they have to do. What if I can't do them? I don't know. I've never been powerful or important or special before_ ," Harry whispered. His hands tightened on the golden snake, wondering if Lord Voldemort would take it away now that he knew Harry was afraid.

But it was still better to say it now, then do something to mess everything up later because Lord Voldemort or someone else thought Harry was powerful and tried to give him a responsibility.

* * *

Lord Voldemort had had two surprises in five minutes. Considering that he had started his reign in part so that he would not be surprised so often by the resourcefulness of his enemies or Muggles, it was an unusual sensation.

But a pleasant one. First, the snake's eyes changing meant that the boy was both powerful and had the talent naturally. His Parseltongue wasn't the result of a spell cast on him by whoever had hidden the boy so thoroughly in the Muggle world.

Second, the boy was intelligent enough to fear power as well as desire it, and brave enough to confess his fears aloud. That meant he was trainable.

" _You are only nine years old, Harry._ " It was no great trial for Lord Voldemort to make his voice tolerant. Already the boy was better company than some of his lesser Death Eaters. " _You have many years yet to learn what power means._ "

Harry looked up at him, his eyes wide again. That was something they _would_ have to work on, Lord Voldemort thought. Too many emotions openly expressed could endanger his plans if he did take this boy into his confidence as a young Parselmouth. " _But what happens when I make mistakes?"_

Lord Voldemort nodded and switched back to English. "Then I will teach you not to make them. If you are mage enough to accept corrections?"

"I can accept lots of corrections, sir."

Probably thinking of those Muggles, by the sound of his voice. Lord Voldemort would pursue the right measures against them, but for now, with the boy away from them and not ever going back, he would turn his attention to projects of higher priority. "And can you trust in me?"

The child kept silent instead of answering right away, which was an interesting reaction. Then Harry looked up with what sounded like a deep breath and asked, "I want—I need to know why you think I'm important enough to keep around, sir. Is it just the Parseltongue? Or the reason that you were looking for me?"

"A combination of those things," Lord Voldemort said. "And this." He reached into a drawer of the desk and removed a ruby. It was only a guess, true, until he saw the way the jewel reacted to the child's magic, but he was sure it was the right one. He had been testing hundreds of children for years now, including every Muggleborn at some point after their first meeting.

Harry, of course, didn't know what an honor it was for Lord Voldemort to test him _during_ their first meeting, but he shifted the golden snake to his shoulder and held out his hands when Lord Voldemort indicated he should.

The ruby lay motionless between his palms for a second, and then sent out a large pulse of red light that washed over Harry's face and shoulders. Harry caught his breath in what might have been pain, and his magic responded, flaring up into an aura that inscribed red Arithmantic equations into the air.

Lord Voldemort studied them with a quiet smile. He had not been wrong in his estimation of the child's talent. This level of power, combined with Parseltongue and the ability to mold the boy as he wished, made him a valuable asset.

"Sir?"

Lord Voldemort nodded to him. "You have a higher level of talent than most, Harry. We measure the levels of power with jewels, and then levels _within_ each jewel by the names of magical ranks. You are a Ruby mage, the highest level, and within that, you're a Dragon."

"Does that mean, the highest, sir?" Harry was almost bouncing in place, holding still only as if he didn't want to jounce the snake and the ruby.

"It means the third highest," Lord Voldemort said, and controlled one of his first genuine laughs in years when he saw the disappointment on the boy's face. "You should be pleased with yourself, Harry. There are nine other jewels beneath the Ruby, each with five ranks within them. You are one of the most powerful mages in the British magical world at present."

"What are the ranks, sir?"

"The jewels that are used for the tests, in order from the least powerful to the most, are agate, bloodstone, topaz, onyx, amethyst, diamond, emerald, sapphire, and ruby. The ranks, in order from the least powerful to the most, are the Acromantula, the Hippogriff, the Dragon, the Unicorn, and the Phoenix."

"Are you Ruby-Phoenix, sir?"

"I am indeed." Lord Voldemort inclined his head. "I am the most powerful mage who has ever been tested in Britain. It makes sense to use me as the standard of the highest level, and measure others in even ranks below that."

"The most powerful one who's ever been _tested,_ sir? Does that mean there are others who haven't been tested?"

Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes. " _Do not mistake my approval for indulgence, Harry. You should be careful about voicing such questions aloud._ "

" _Why, sir_?" At least the boy answered in Parseltongue, although he looked startled and strained as he did.

" _Because some people will assume that you are a traitor to the government, if you do. The idea that there are powerful mages among the traitors who fight against us will unsettle some people._ "

Harry paused for a long instant. Lord Voldemort studied him. He had expected instant obedience. If he didn't get it, then he might have to reconsider his opinion about how useful Harry would be.

" _All right, sir,_ " Harry said. " _I can do that. I haven't asked many questions since I was a child._ "

There was bitterness there, and experience, but Lord Voldemort intended to delve into those subjects later. For now, he nodded and reclaimed the ruby from Harry. "You should name your snake," he added in English. "That strengthens the bond between you and the carving, and ultimately strengthens your Parselmagic." He did not add that it would also prevent the carving from being stolen from the child, and allow Lord Voldemort to see more easily through its eyes. There was no need to trouble the boy.

"Oh." Harry looked down. "Can I name it a female name? Like Nagini?"

His familiar hissed in pleasure at the sound of her name, and Lord Voldemort sent back an absent hiss in return as he nodded. "Why not? The carving is not a living snake, but the more you treat it like one, the more it can help you grow."

"All right." Harry took in a breath as if this were a momentous decision, and perhaps it was. The boy might never had had a pet before, or perhaps even a toy. "I think I'm going to call her Morgana."

"An interesting name. Why?"

"There was a witch I heard about in a story once called Morgana."

"Very well," Lord Voldemort said, and then took up the Floo powder. He had inventoried the ranks of his followers while the boy was considering, and had decided that for the moment, it would be best if Harry stayed with the Malfoys. Lucius had a boy Harry's own age, and wouldn't find his antics overly disturbing or require a lesson in the necessities for a nine-year-old. And Lucius's loyalty was beyond question.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" Lord Voldemort glanced over his shoulder.

Harry Potter's face shone with devotion as he said, " _Thank_ you. _This has been the best day of my life._ "


End file.
